


Putting Chess in Check

by Wtchcool



Category: Elementary (TV), The Cape (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wtchcool/pseuds/Wtchcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uncovering Chess' secret identity was elementary. But now that he knows, is there anything Holmes can do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting Chess in Check

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: You don’t have to be Sherlock to deduce that I own neither “The Cape,” nor “Elementary.”

            Peter Fleming stepped through the door of his penthouse, suppressing a grimace. While he’d wanted the consultant to come straight away, the man shouldn’t have been left alone in his quarters for any length of time. Someone might have to be fired for this oversight. Not that Peter had left anything incriminating lying about, but this consultant’s deduction skills were rumored to be almost preternatural.

 

            It was for this reason that Peter had paid for the plane tickets from New York City to Palm City for Sherlock Holmes.

 

            Only after the destruction of the production line for the T.R.A.C.-E. module, the analytical device with algorithms that were virtually capable of predicting the future, did it occur to Peter that the invention could have been used to discover the identity of the vigilante running around his city. He didn’t have the patience to wait for the invention to be rebuilt. He wanted answers now, and if he couldn’t get them from a machine, he was pretty sure he could get them from a person.

 

            “Mr. Fleming?” Holmes inquired. Though it wasn’t chilly in the penthouse, Sherlock was wearing a scarf around his neck, over his t-shirt and jacket.

 

            “Yes. You must be Mr. Holmes. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Peter shook hands with the detective.

 

            “Quite. May we get down to business? I’m afraid I ditched my valet and she’ll be anxious to catch up with me when she notices I’m gone.” He’d told Watson that they were flying out to Palm City for a vacation from the consulting work he did for the N.Y.P.D. She’d been a bit suspicious, but ultimately decided it would be good for his recovery.

 

            Joan would have insisted on accompanying him to ARK Tower, as it was her job to accompany him everywhere. But in this case it was out of the question, so he did the only thing he could think of to stall her—he’d talked to the hotel’s front desk and cancelled her wake up call. She’d probably be asleep for another hour or so.

 

            “Very well,” Fleming replied. “I asked you here because I am impressed with your record at Scotland Yard and, more recently, at the New York Police Department. I have a job I’d like you to do.”

 

            “I’m not interested in joining ARK Corporation, Mr. Fleming.”

 

            “You misunderstand me. I want to hire you to solve one particular case for me. You may have heard that the city has had a vigilante problem in recent months. Some tosser calling himself—”

 

            “The Cape, yes, I’ve heard of him,” Holmes interrupted him. He kept up with the news. He knew the self-proclaimed hero had been running around Palm City, using his cape as a weapon and giving a number of villains grief. He deduced why he was asked here before he ever stepped foot on the plane. “You want me to find out his secret identity for you.”

 

            “Precisely,” Peter smiled. _Good, the man is intelligent_ , though it remained to be seen whether he was intelligent enough to get the job done.

 

            “I can’t do that,” Sherlock said. Peter’s smile became rather frozen.

 

            “Why is that?” the C.E.O. asked.

 

            “Because I’m not going to hand Chess his archenemy’s secret,” Sherlock replied matter-of-factly. Chess was the masked killer that had plagued Palm City for years. Supposedly the villain was finally unmasked as the late police officer Vince Faraday. Holmes knew better.

 

            Peter stilled for just a fraction of a second before relaxing.

 

            “Ah. You’ve heard Scales’ ridiculous accusation. I had hoped you wouldn’t take the word of a nutter so seriously—”

 

            “That ‘nutter,’ as you called him is the man who smuggled into the city the L-9 explosives that Chess used to murder the last Palm City Police Department’s chief. I think that his dealings with Chess would lend some credibility to his tale. But we can get back to Raoul’s accusation later. There were other clues that tipped me off as to your identity, Fleming.”

 

            “Is that so?” Peter asked, doubting the other man had anything remotely concrete. “Alright, I’ll bite. What makes you think that Faraday wasn’t Chess?”

 

            “Who would be more likely to choose ‘Chess’ as a moniker—the man who played American football in high school, or the man who was captain of the chess team in university?” Holmes posited. He did his research before he came here. From the look on Fleming’s face, he had surprised the billionaire.

 

            “Yes,” Holmes continued. “I know that you entered chess tournaments by the time you were eight years old.”

 

            “That proves nothing,” Fleming shrugged. “Just because Faraday was more into contact sports—”

 

            “What about the fact that Faraday has an iron-clad alibi? It’s funny that none of your reporters, I’m sorry, the city’s reporters have pointed it out, but Faraday’s military record places him on another continent when Chess began murdering people in Palm City.

 

            “You framed that cop. I don’t know why you picked him, other than the fact that he was the right build, and about your height, but I know you did.”

 

            “I didn’t frame anyone. Even if my men went after the wrong man, that doesn’t make me Chess!”

 

            “I can go on. Curious thing: It appears that Chess’ first victims started popping up not long after your wife died.”

 

            “A morbid coincidence, I’m sure,” Fleming gritted out.

 

            “Along with the fact that Chess’ crimes became more frequent after your daughter ran away from home, no doubt,” Holmes shot back. “But I think it’s a little too coincidental that Tracey Jerrod tried to assassinate you.”

 

            “There’s no mystery there. She’s deranged. She had a difficult childhood—”

 

            “Yes, I’m aware that her father allowed you to use her as a lab rat for your research. I also understand that her father was murdered by Chess awhile back.”

 

            “I don’t think you appreciate the danger you’re in by accusing me of murder,” Fleming hissed, his eyes narrowed.

 

            “I’ve faced serial killers before. I’m not that easily intimidated.”

 

            “I am not a murderer,” Fleming stated, his fists clenching.

 

            Holmes wasn’t looking at him. He picked up a container of eye contact cleaning solution he had spotted.

 

            “I see you wear contacts,” the sleuth observed.

 

            “And I suppose Chess is the only one in the city that does?” Fleming demanded. Chess’ cosmetic contact lenses were one of the villain’s trademarks. The pupils were quite distinctive.

 

            “Hardly,” Holmes answered, “although I happen to know that your contacts are cosmetic. You had eye surgery to correct your vision several years ago.”

 

            “Perhaps it didn’t take,” Fleming suggested, a voice in his mind already cataloging the different ways his visitor could be killed.

 

            “Perhaps,” Holmes allowed, as he put the solution back where he’d found it. “But these things add up. And if we could return now to the incident with Dominic Raoul on the Monte Carlo…”

 

            Dominic Raoul, a.k.a. Scales had accused Fleming of being Chess aboard the train, in front of numerous officials and reporters. It had accomplished nothing. All of the bystanders had laughed it off as a joke.

 

            “What about it?” Peter asked, unconcerned. Scales’ word should mean even less now than it had at the time, as the smuggler was currently in prison for first degree murder.

 

            “You will allow that Scales had dealings with Chess?”

 

            Peter nodded.

 

            “It stands to reason that Scales would be better equipped to identify Chess, then. Oh, Chess wore a mask, but there are other things he didn’t conceal. For instance, his voice—his _accent_ ,” Holmes went on. He gave a half-smile.

 

            “Scales is adamant that Chess has a British accent,” he continued.

 

            “If we’re going to round up everyone here that has a British accent,” Fleming countered, “you’d be a suspect, too.”

 

            “I would, if I didn’t have my own alibi for the crimes, but it helps us rule out Faraday as a suspect, as the man was American, and it narrows the pool of suspects considerably.

 

            “I wonder if you’re up on the city’s demographics. Did you know only a fraction of one percent of the citizens of Palm City hail from Britain?”

 

            “I think I’ve heard enough.”

 

            “Oh, indulge me just a bit longer. Would you bring up Orwell’s blog on your computer, please, specifically, the video footage from the Monte Carlo?”

 

            Reluctantly, Fleming did. The two watched the screen as Scales identified Fleming as Chess and Holmes paused the video before they could get to the ensuing laughter.

 

            “There. Right there,” Holmes pointed at Fleming’s face frozen on the screen.

 

            “What?” Fleming asked.

 

            “You didn’t laugh off the accusation.”

 

            “Yes, I did. If you’ll press play—”

 

            “Then I’ll see you join in the laughter after others started to laugh, yes. But you waited first, to see how others would react, to find out if others would believe him. None of the reporters pointed it out (although I would note that you own more than half the local media), but there’s this point right here—where you’re petrified.”

 

            “I was _not_ petrified.”

 

            “You’re speaking to a fellow Brit here. I know what the British expression of fear looks like and this,” he gestured back to the screen, “is it. It’s fleeting and hard to tell if you’re not looking for it, but there it is. Scales could recant his story, but it wouldn’t matter because your face says it all: You’re Chess.”

 

            “Alright, let’s assume, Holmes, that I am Chess. What makes you think I won’t kill you to keep you quiet?” the villain asked.

 

            “You won’t kill me, Chess, because you know there’s no profit in doing so. It’s the same reason you didn’t kill Scales. No one would believe me any more than they believed him.

 

            “We both know I wasn’t the only one who did my homework. You checked up on me. You found out about the rehab facility. I say anything about what we discussed here and you’ll wave it off as the ranting of a recovering drug addict.”

 

            “Does that frustrate you, Holmes, to know that you can do nothing to bring Chess to justice?” Peter taunted him, dropping the charade.

 

            “To no end,” Holmes replied, his stoic demeanor cracking slightly at last. “And even if the police were inclined to hear me out, whoops! You run ARK Corporation, and ARK is the police in this town. They’re highly unlikely to arrest their leader.”

 

            “Indeed. Well, if we’re done here, perhaps you should head back to New York now.”

 

            “We’re not done quite yet, Chess. You’re going to do something for me.”

 

            “Oh, I am?”

 

            “Yes: You’re going to clear Faraday’s name. You’re going to admit that ARK hunted down an innocent man so his family doesn’t have to live with a tarnished image of him any longer. And you’re not going to frame anyone else for your crimes.”

 

            “You want all this, in exchange for what? You already declined to hand me the Cape’s identity.” Peter wouldn’t be surprised, at this point, if Holmes had already solved that puzzle. “And you can’t blackmail me. If anything, the opposite is true. I expect your Captain Gregson doesn’t realize that your ‘valet’ is actually there to keep you from falling off the wagon.”

 

            “You’re going to do it because if you don’t, I will lay out the case against you for Orwell’s blog. In isolation, an accusation from Scales or myself might go ignored. But if the accusations against you keep piling up, sooner or later, someone will begin to take them seriously. And while you may have corrupted the local government, your reach doesn’t extend to the Feds.”

 

            “Clear Faraday’s name,” Peter repeated. He shrugged. “I don’t know why it matters so much to you. Of course, admitting that ARK made such a drastic mistake would make the price of its stock plunge—”

 

            “If the shares were publicly traded, but they aren’t. It’s a close corporation, the shares held between you, the majority shareholder, and your missing daughter, Jamie. This won’t bankrupt you, Fleming, so don’t play martyr.”

 

            “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to help me locate Jamie,” Peter did not allow himself to sound hopeful.

 

            “She’s an adult now. If she wants to come back to you, she will. I don’t think I should interfere.” He shouldn’t feel sympathy for the killer, either and yet…

 

            “You know, it could be that she’d be pleased if you clear the poor bloke’s name.”

 

            “Perhaps,” Peter whispered.

 

            “I’ll see myself out. Oh, there’s just one other thing that’s occurred to me.”

 

            “I hate to ask.”

 

            “You’ll be in need of a new chief of police since your last one was killed. After you’ve cleared Faraday’s name, if he should happen to be alive—”

 

            “No one could’ve survived that explosion,” Fleming interjected.

 

            “So you would think. And so, I would imagine, a fugitive would want you to think. But supposing he did miraculously rise from the dead, perhaps you’d consider giving him the post.”

 

            And on that note, Sherlock departed for his hotel, hoping he could intercept Watson before she could question him about his whereabouts.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for Vince’s military alibi, as usual, goes to Dragomir.
> 
> Well? Questions? Comments? Unsatisfied by the ending? Disappointed Watson wasn’t included?
> 
> Once again, if you haven’t yet seen The Cape, I encourage you to look for the D.V.D. (or check it out online).


End file.
